


lucky

by labeledbones



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labeledbones/pseuds/labeledbones
Summary: The fic about Timmy and his lucky purple socks you didn't know you needed until now.





	lucky

**Author's Note:**

> so [nellipot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellipot/pseuds/nellipot) and i were discussing Timmy’s wardrobe when we realized Timmy has been seen wearing [these purple socks](https://tchalametdaily.tumblr.com/post/173810372861/timoth%C3%A9e-chalamet-at-nice-airport-france-may) at the airport at least twice and since we know Timmy’s an anxious flyer, we naturally decided these socks are clearly his lucky socks for not dying on planes. so anyway i wrote 1.4k word fic about the socks. enjoy. :)

All Armie hears is a low, long, “Fuuuuuuuuck,” from the guest room. 

He pokes his head in the door and sees Timmy frantically opening every single drawer and then dumping the contents of his suitcase, his backpack, his duffel onto the floor. The whole time muttering, “Fuck. No. No. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” 

Armie leans against the doorjamb, folds his arms across his chest. “What’s going on here?” 

Timmy jerks his head up and the look on his face can only be described as panicked, distraught.

“My socks,” he says. “I can’t find my goddamn socks.”

Armie points to a pair next to him on the floor. “Those socks?”

Timmy looks down at the floor excitedly, but then his shoulders drop. “Those are black,” he says. 

“Very good,” Armie teases. “Now, what color is the bedspread?” 

Timmy doesn’t laugh though. He just drops down onto the floor, legs crossed, messy hair all in his face. No one has ever looked more defeated. 

“My purple socks, man,” he says. “I can’t find them.” 

And now Armie understands. The purple socks.

“Shit,” Armie says. 

“Shit,” Timmy nods.

“They’re not in your bag?” 

Timmy just looks up at him and holds his hands out to indicate the mess of his things all over the room. 

“Right. Obviously not.” 

He walks into the room and sits down on the floor next to Timmy. He tries in vain to push some of Timmy’s hair out his face with his fingers. It falls back into his eyes immediately so Armie just touches his cheek, his jaw. 

The purple socks. Timmy’s good luck charm. He refuses to fly if he’s not wearing those socks, convinced if he doesn’t wear the socks, the plane will go down. It’s a superstition Armie teased him for at first. Before he understood it had less to do with him actually believing the socks were saving their lives and more to do with just Timmy needing something reassuring, something he could believe in while he was up in the air. 

Armie wishes all he needed was a pair of socks to convince him things were going to be okay. 

“We’ll find ‘em,” he says, a hand on Timmy’s knee as he stands up. “I’ll check the laundry room.” 

Timmy sighs, looking around the room. “We have to be at the airport in an hour,” he says. 

“So we gotta work fast,” Armie says, holding a hand out to Timmy and pulling him up. He puts his hands on Timmy’s shoulders and kisses him, just once. Timmy kisses him back, just once. 

“They’re here some where, right?” Armie ducks his head to meet Timmy’s eyes. 

Timmy nods, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll go check your room,” he says. 

***

In Armie and Elizabeth’s room, Timmy sits on the edge of their bed and takes a breath. He breathes with his diaphragm, in for ten, out for ten. 

He can’t believe he lost his fucking socks. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, dials Pauline, grateful when she picks up on the second ring. 

“Timoooooo,” she says, sounding half drunk. 

“Pauly, I can’t find my purple socks,” he says, sounding hopeless. “And we fly to London in two hours.”

She’s the only one who knows about his thing with the socks besides Armie. 

(He’s always been a anxious flyer and there’s always been some token of good luck he’s had to bring with him. When he was a kid, it was a teddy bear his grandma had given him. When he was a teenager, it was a Knicks hoodie. And now, it’s the purple socks.) 

She’s also his big sister and the only person who really knows how to deal with him. 

“Okay,” Pauline says. He can hear her friends behind her and hates that he’s interrupting her night out for this. “Well, they’re definitely with you, right?”

He gets up and starts opening dresser drawers: Elizabeth’s underwear, Armie’s t-shirts, Elizabeth’s sweaters, Armie’s sweatpants. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, they’re in this house somewhere. It’s a big fucking house though.” 

Sitting on top of the dresser is Armie’s watch. Timmy picks it up and absently puts it on his small wrist. He adjusts the band until it fits right. He thinks maybe it could replace the purple socks. His boyfriend’s expensive, way too big watch. Tight against his wrist. Like Armie’s fingers when they’re — 

He takes the watch off, puts it back on the dresser, and goes over to the walk-in closet. He doesn’t know how his socks would’ve found their way into the closet, but he checks the shelves anyway, checks the floor, back in the corners. 

Nothing.

“I’m sure you’ll find them,” Pauline says. “And, if you don’t, then you don’t. And guess what? You’ll be fine.” 

He nods. “Yeah, I know. Fuck. I know you’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. Go back to your friends.” 

“Love you, Timo,” she says. 

“Love you, too.” 

***

No sign of the socks in the laundry room, Armie starts checking between the couch cushions. 

“The car’s here,” Elizabeth says, walking into the living room. “Where’s Timmy?”

Armie turns around, running a hand through his hair. “We can’t find his purple socks.” 

“Okay?” 

“He needs them.” 

Elizabeth nods slowly. “He doesn’t have any other socks?”

Armie sighs. He isn’t sure if it’s his place to explain the sock thing to Elizabeth so he just says, “He needs these socks.” 

Timmy shuffles into the room behind Elizabeth. “Any luck?” he asks, lifting a blanket thrown over one of the armchairs. 

Armie shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, throwing his hands up. “I’m sorry, babe.” 

Elizabeth looks at Timmy and reaches out to tuck a wild piece of hair behind his ear. “What’s the deal with these socks?” 

Timmy shrugs. “They’re just lucky,” he says. “For flying.” 

Armie looks from Timmy to Elizabeth. “He won’t tell even me what makes them lucky.” 

He’d asked once and Timmy had blushed and done that thing where he tries his best to fold completely in on himself and disappear. He hadn’t pushed him on it. Timmy will tell people things when he’s ready to tell people things. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Timmy says. “Let’s just go. We don’t wanna miss our flight.” 

Armie nods, but as the three of them head for the door, he pulls Timmy back, hand on his elbow. “You’re sure you’re good?” 

Timmy looks at him for a long second before he smiles softly and drops his head a little: wanting to kiss him but not kissing him. “I’m fine,” he says. “I have you, right?” 

Armie moves his hand to Timmy’s waist. “Right,” he says. 

***

On the plane, Timmy looks down at his white socks and feels the panic trying to rise up. 

“I’ll tell you why the purple socks are lucky,” he says to Armie who is pouring wine from a small bottle into a plastic cup in front of Timmy. 

Armie doesn’t say anything, just waits. 

Timmy gulps down half of the wine before he says, “I was wearing them the first time I flew out to LA just to see you.” 

He tilts his head back against the headrest. He finds peace in the line of Armie’s jaw, the corners of his eyes. 

Armie still doesn’t say anything, he still just waits. 

“You thought I was coming out for work,” he says, shaking his head. “I wasn’t. I just wanted to see you. It had been a few months since Italy and I wasn’t sure if I’d made it all up or not. I thought maybe I’d even made you up.” 

“You’d have to have a pretty lousy imagination,” Armie teases. 

Timmy ignores him. “I kissed you by the pool that first night. I didn’t know if you — I really just didn’t know anything. Besides that I wanted to kiss you.” 

“So, the socks,” Armie says, nodding. 

Timmy nods back, looking at him intently. “What if I’d died before getting to kiss you?” 

Armie reaches over and holds onto Timmy’s hand. 

***

In London, Timmy finds the purple socks stuck inside the left leg of his sweatpants. 

He folds them up and puts them back in his suitcase. 

He’s lucky enough.


End file.
